


Taking Charge

by sasha1600



Series: Taking Charge [1]
Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: First Time, James loves Robbie for ages before Robbie figures it out, James speaks Latin, James's band, Light BDSM, M/M, Only One Bed, call me "Robbie", cooking together, eating take-away, keeping secrets at work, lavender socks, missing the allotment trope, sharing a room on a case, taking care of the other who's ill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-30
Updated: 2013-08-30
Packaged: 2017-12-25 03:09:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/947915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sasha1600/pseuds/sasha1600
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>It wouldn’t do to admit to Lewis that he has a strong dominant streak...</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taking Charge

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lindenharp](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lindenharp/gifts).



> Written for Lindenharp’s prompt for the Lewis_Challenge Summer Challenge on LJ: _James and Robbie begin a D/s relationship -- with James as the dominant. How do they handle the shift in power dynamics between work and private life?_ The BDSM elements are very mild, but if bondage, power dynamics, or very gentle 'pain' play are a problem for you, you might want to skip this one.
> 
> Many thanks to Uniquepov and Complicated Light for beta and Britpicking and to Wendymr for answering random questions.

The first time he notices it is when Lewis is trying to avoid seeing the dentist. He’s already walked out of one scheduled appointment, so Hathaway turns up in the morning, drives him there, waits with him, and personally escorts him to the treatment room. 

Lewis, of course, notices what he’s doing, and comments with not-entirely-mock annoyance that sergeants are not supposed to use their police training against their governors. 

He smiles benignly and continues steering him with a crisply polite ‘yes, sir’ that earns him a scowl that turns into a grimace. 

He doesn’t really run into any trouble until Lewis pauses in the treatment room doorway.

‘Didn’t know you had a sadistic streak, Hathaway.’

‘Not sadistic, sir. Just d...’

He recovers quickly.

‘...etermined. I put a lot of effort into training you. I wouldn’t want to have to break in a new inspector, while you’re on sick leave because you let that tooth get infected.’

_That was too close_ , he thinks, plastering a carefully blank expression on his face. It wouldn’t do to admit to Lewis that he has a strong dominant streak. 

Or that he’s fantasised about dominating Lewis.

Lewis seems to buy it, shooting him a sour look that clearly says he recognises the payback for his cracks about housetraining him.

And it must be his imagination that Lewis’s eyes turn a shade darker while he’s letting him direct his movements.

X X X

The second time he notices it is a few months later, when Lewis comes down with the latest bug making the rounds of the station. He arrives at his boss’s flat to check up on him, armed with a Boots bag full of Dr. Hobson’s recommended remedies, a container of soup he knows Lewis likes, and – on the recommendation of Hooper, of all people – ice lollies, and finds Lewis sitting in the middle of the floor, reorganising a box of photos.

‘I might as well get something useful done, if I’m stuck here...’ he protests, when Hathaway starts to steer him down the hallway towards his bedroom.

‘You’re supposed to be _resting_ , sir,’ he points out, for about the fifteenth time in two days.

Lewis grumbles a bit, but allows himself to be tucked into bed.

‘Are you going to behave yourself? Or do I need to get out my handcuffs?’

_Shit_ , he thinks. It’s worrying how easily he’s fallen into that role, ordering Lewis around, threatening to tie him to his bed. He needs to be more careful.

And it must be the illness that keeps Lewis from noticing that his sergeant suggested misusing police equipment in a rather personal context.

X X X

He digs into reserves of will-power he hasn’t used since his time in the seminary, and somehow gets through the next few months without revealing his less-than-professional feelings towards his boss. That’s his greatest fear. He knows that none of his fantasies will ever come true, the fantasies that he ruthlessly pushes out of his mind, not daring to let himself become accustomed, even in his own imaginings, to what he can’t have. He knows, too, that even hinting at what he desires will surely cost him what he _does_ have: a working relationship, a friendship, that has for a long time been the only thing keeping him in this job.

The only thing keeping him happier – even now, despite what he doesn’t have – than he’s been in years.

And it’s fine. Really.

Until they have to interview a witness in Cardiff. It’s late when they finish, and they need to follow up on something the next morning. And it’s a Friday night, and there’s a big rugby match on... James can see the impending disaster, like a train wreck that he’s powerless to prevent. 

‘We have one room left,’ the hotel receptionist tells them, far too cheerfully. 

James already has his phone out, desperately looking for another alternative, but Lewis hands over his credit card.

‘You want to risk losing _this_ room while you’re being picky?’

He scowls, more at the lack of results on his phone than at his governor’s gibe.

‘Besides, Innocent will be pleased to be saving on the expenses,’ Lewis adds, his voice light.

James abruptly returns his phone to his pocket and turns on his heel, calling over his shoulder as he strides towards the door, ‘I’m going for a smoke.’ 

The light drizzle does nothing to improve his mood as he puffs sullenly on his cigarette, watching though the glass panes as Lewis deals with the paperwork. He fetches their overnight bags from the car before returning, just as the receptionist is handing over the key.

Lewis leads the way towards the lift, frowning slightly when he notices the too-carefully-blank expression James has plastered on his face.

‘It’s not _that_ bad! We’ve shared before...’

‘That’s how I know you snore. Sir.’ he deadpans. As expected, Lewis gives him a sideways, exasperated look, the one that clearly says _All right, smartarse, that’s enough out of you_. 

Just when he’s convinced himself that he can make it through one night without revealing his inappropriate feelings for his boss, the train wreck plunges headlong over a cliff. Lewis turns the key in the lock and pushes the door open. To reveal the single bed in the centre of the room.

Lewis makes an annoyed sound beside him, and for a moment hope flares that they’ll go somewhere else, after all. But, with a resigned sigh, and a muttered ‘bloody perfect’, the DI begins toeing off his shoes, and the glimmer of hope sputters and dies. 

Twenty minutes later, teeth brushed and changed into his pyjamas, he’s lying as close as possible to the edge of the mattress, his back to the bathroom where Lewis is attending to his own night-time routine, willing his traitorous body not to betray his secret. He’s breathing evenly, eyes closed, when Lewis gets into bed, but it’s a long time before he falls asleep.

X X X

When James wakes, he’s immediately aware of two things. The first is that he is plastered against his boss’s body. The second is that he’s hard as a rock.

He tries to pull away, hoping not to awaken Lewis, but a hand closes tightly on his wrist, holding him in place.

Knowing that Lewis can’t have failed to notice the bulge pressed against his arse, he offers what he hopes is a suitably embarrassed, believable explanation. ‘I’m sorry. I was... dreaming.’ He frantically brings an image to mind of the pretty blonde cashier at his bank, ready to provide details, should Lewis press him. 

But the hope that he might yet manage to talk his way out of the situation is quickly dashed.

‘I know. About some _other_ Robbie, who you also call sir, was it?’

James feels a rush of panic, like a physical, visceral illness. Lewis knows! He must be imagining the humour in Lewis’s voice...

‘Sir?’ he attempts, feebly.

‘You were mumbling in your sleep, lad.’

‘I see. Of course, I’ll res...’

‘What you should do, James, is shut up and kiss me.’

He must really be dreaming, he thinks, because there’s no way that Lewis – straight, still grieving for his wife Lewis – would welcome, or return, his interest.

‘Sir?’

‘And if you insist on talking, for God’s sake, call me Robbie!’

In the end, they do very little talking.

X X X

Three months later, James is happier than he remembers ever being before. Nothing has changed at work, despite a close call, once, when Robbie nearly answered James’s phone when Dispatch rang in the middle of the night. They’ve decided not to advertise their new relationship, neither of them being willing to risk being reassigned. But at home.... He and Robbie have settled into a routine, spending more nights together than apart, sharing take-away and beer, crap telly, and Robbie’s bed.

Despite James’s reservations about what Lewis does and does not want, Robbie turns out to be more than willing to try new things in bed, making up for his inexperience with an adventurousness that James hadn’t expected, and an eagerness to give pleasure to his partner that he feels a bit guilty for not anticipating, given what he knows about the man in other contexts. 

And if James’s deepest fantasies remain unfulfilled, it’s because he hasn’t dared to share them with Robbie.

It’s not that he wants anything too dramatic. The whips-and-chains-and-kneeling-at-his-feet kind of dominance has never appealed to him personally. He doesn’t want to humiliate Robbie, and he certainly doesn’t want to really hurt him. But he does want to take control sometimes, to make the decisions so Robbie doesn’t have to, to allow Robbie to let go, to not be the one in charge, and to lose himself in sensation.

But how can he tell Robbie that he wants to indulge his dominant tendencies by tying him to his bed and not letting him come until he’s incoherent with need? 

Because there’s no way, _no way_ that Lewis really was aroused, before, by being bossed around by his sergeant. No, it surely was simply his own imagination, his insane, wish-fulfilling imagination, that made him think that Robbie – kind, sensible, simple northern copper Robbie – would be looking lustfully at a man forcing him into a dentist’s chair?

No, what they have is fantastic, better than he ever dared to hope. He’s not going to risk it by asking for more. And it’s enough.

X X X

James is finishing the washing-up when he hears Robbie cursing loudly in the next room. Lewis is driving up to Manchester soon, and wants to surprise his grandson with a tricycle. The problem is that the tricycle arrived home from the shop in about a million pieces, and Robbie is determined that it will be a fully-assembled, functional trike that he pulls out of the back seat when he gets to Lyn’s.

James hangs up the tea towel and goes to help. He’s already offered once, but this time he’s going to insist.

‘Why can’t they include instructions with these things, if they’re not going to sell them already put together?’

James’s lips twitch. ‘They did,’ he chuckles, holding up the booklet.

‘Those aren’t instructions! There’s no bloody words!’

‘That’s so they don’t need to translate it, when they sell the same product in different countries.’

‘So, instead, people all over the world are unable to understand the same non-instructions,’ Robbie huffs, clearly frustrated.

James reaches out his hand for the spanner Robbie’s holding.

‘Here, let me do it.’

‘What do you know about putting a kiddie’s bike together?’

‘Absolutely nothing. But I’ve assembled enough Ikea furniture – I’m fluent in pictograms.’

Robbie reluctantly scoots over, letting James take his place in the midst of the piles of screws and bolts. It takes James a few minutes to figure out which of the nearly-identical hardware each of the pictures is meant to represent, but the instructions are actually quite straight-forward. 

‘Oi! You’re never starting with that! Here...’

He bats away Robbie’s hand, reaching for one of the larger pieces of the frame.

‘No, see... the first step is to join that flat piece to that...’

‘It’s the wrong way ‘round, man! Why...’

‘Robbie, you were complaining about there not being instructions, so why don’t you let me follow the instructions?’

Lewis huffs, but is quiet for a few minutes, and stops trying to hand him the wrong pieces.

‘No, that can’t be right!’

Or maybe not.

They go on like this for several more minutes, with James trying to decipher what the little stick-men are doing in the diagrams, and Robbie making ‘helpful’ suggestions, without ever looking at the instructions. Finally, after explaining for the third time that the handlebars can’t be connected together until after the centre piece has been attached to the upright bit, he suggests that Robbie go and put the kettle on.

Five minutes later, Robbie’s back, peering over his shoulder. James sighs.

‘Robbie, I don’t want this thing to collapse as soon as your grandson gets on it, so could you _please_ let me concentrate for a bit?’

There’s blessed quiet for a minute. James squints at the next picture, trying to work out if he’s meant to use the short, fat screws, or the slightly longer, not so fat screws. He flips ahead to the next page, hoping that clearer diagrams for the next few steps will at least tell him which screws he’s _not_ supposed to be using now... _Right, that’s the longer ones there..._

‘Here, just...’

‘Would you bloody well sit down and shut up?!’

He regrets it immediately. But when he looks up to apologise, he’s astonished to see that Robbie _has_ sat down. And is staring at him with undisguised lust.

His mouth has suddenly gone dry. He’s about to make a suggestion but, with a confirming glance at Robbie, turns it into an order.

‘Go and wait for me in the bedroom. Naked. I’m nearly finished here...’

To his utter amazement, Robbie nods and gets to his feet.

X X X

Ten minutes later, James joins Robbie in the bedroom, wondering if he would perhaps have had second thoughts about this. To his delight, Robbie is indeed naked, and stretched out face-down in the middle of the bed.

‘Turn over,’ he commands, his voice heavy with lust. Robbie complies, and James sees that his eyes are dark with desire.

James doesn’t stop to undress before crawling onto the bed and covering Robbie’s body with his own. He knows that his jeans must be uncomfortable against Robbie’s straining cock, but there’s no protest as he claims his lover’s mouth with his own. When he finally pulls back, gasping for air, he presses his hands lightly over Robbie’s wrists, holding them down against the mattress.

‘Is this okay?’

‘Yeah. Yeah. It’s more than okay. It’s... Jesus, James, it’s bloody fantastic. I never knew...’

James steals the rest of his words with another kiss, leaving them both breathless.

‘I want to tie you to this bed and take my time making love to you. I want to make it impossible for you to think about anything other than the feel of my hands and my lips on your body, and I want to remind you that I’m in control, that it’s my decision when you get to come. And I want to make you come so hard, you forget your own name.’

Robbie’s barely breathing by the time he stops talking, but he nods.

‘That sounds... yeah. Do it.’

James kisses him hard, then climbs off him and quickly crosses the room to the wardrobe. He knows Robbie has a bag on the top shelf that he’s been meaning to drop off at Oxfam for ages, and he knows that there’s at least a couple of old ties in there, because he’d been the one to condemn them to the discard pile. It’s not long before he’s climbing back into bed, clutching three ties.

‘Sure you want to do this?’

Robbie nods. James can see that he’s nervous, but he’s also definitely willing.

‘Okay. If you want me to stop at any point, just say “red”. Like a traffic light.’

Robbie looks at him askance. ‘Why can’t I just say “stop” if I want you to stop?’

Without warning, James drops the ties onto the mattress, throws a leg over Robbie’s thighs to straddle him, and digs his fingers into his ribs, where he knows he’s most ticklish. Robbie gasps and squirms, laughing helplessly, lasting only a few seconds before he gasps out ‘Stop!’ James does, immediately.

He lets Robbie catch his breath before beginning to interrogate him.

‘Did you _really_ want me to stop?’

‘Yes! No. Bloody hell, man, you were tickling me. What’d you expect me to say?’

‘Exactly. Which is why you’ll say “red” when you really mean it. So I can ignore you when you say “stop”, without worrying that I’m ignoring something that I should actually be taking seriously.’

Robbie still doesn’t look entirely convinced, but he nods. ‘Yeah, all right.’

James presses another kiss to his lips, then reaches for one of the ties. He loops it around part of the headboard, then knots the two ends around Robbie’s wrists. The knots are loose enough, and there’s enough slack, that Robbie can easily free himself if he wants to. But the fabric around his wrists will give him the feeling of restraint, as long as he wants it. With the other ties, he secures each of Robbie’s ankles to the end of the bed, his legs spread wide. Robbie tugs gently, testing the bonds.

‘Still sure?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Good.’

James gives him a predatory smile, then begins to undress slowly.

Settling naked on top of Robbie, he traces a single finger-tip along one of his arms until it meets the knot, then down the other, enjoying the slight shudder this elicits from his lover. He proceeds to methodically caress and kiss every inch of Robbie. Or, rather, nearly every inch, because he’s ruthlessly avoiding his cock. It doesn’t take long before he has Robbie pleading with him.

‘Please.... James, you’ve gotta touch me. Please...’

‘I _am_ touching you.’

He circles one of Robbie’s nipples with a finger-tip.

‘And kissing you...’

He presses a light kiss to the rapidly hardening nub.

‘And licking you...’

He does.

‘And sucking you...’

He pulls the nipple between his lips and sucks hard.

Robbie arches his back and pulls at his bindings hard enough to make the bed rattle.

‘Bloody hell, James! You know what I mean!’

Without warning, James pinches the other nipple, hard, while still sucking on the one in his mouth.

‘Jesus Christ!’

James grins, swipes the tip of his tongue over the nub, circles it briefly, then bites down gently, making Robbie gasp. A quick glance confirms that Robbie is still hard and leaking. 

‘Oh, good. I’m glad to see you enjoy a little pain with your pleasure.’

‘No. I don’t like pain,’ Robbie pants. ‘I could do with some more of that pleasure, though...’

‘Cheeky!’

He rewards him with another nibble.

‘And even if you _say_ you don’t like pain, _this_ is saying otherwise.’

He slowly draws one finger along the length of Robbie’s cock, the first time he’s touched it this evening. Robbie curses, pleads, and threatens, demanding that James let him come.

‘Don’t worry, Robbie. I don’t plan on really _hurting_ you. But it’s nice to know that I can do _this_ , knowing you won’t mind that it hurts a bit.’

Shifting slightly, he anchors his mouth over Robbie’s hip, sucking hard and worrying the skin between his teeth. Robbie squirms and gasps.

‘Stop. James... I...’

James detaches briefly from his prey.

‘You have a safeword, Robbie. And unless you use it, I intend to leave a mark on you that will last for _weeks_. Because I’m a possessive bugger, and you’re mine.’

Ignoring Robbie’s groan, he latches back on and continues working on the mark he’s leaving, until he’s satisfied that the redness will darken into a dramatic bruise.

Finally pleased with his handiwork, he stretches out again on top of his lover and waits for his breathing to slow before resuming the slow torture of touching and kissing him, sweetly, slowly, maddeningly.

‘James... Please... Yer killing me, man...’

‘Do you want to come?’

‘YES!’

‘That’s unfortunate, because you’re going to have to wait a while longer.’

‘James!’

Ignoring the protest, he snuggles close, his lips grazing Robbie’s ear while his fingers continue their slow exploration.

‘You know that toy you like? The vibrating one?’

He feels Robbie nodding.

‘The next time we do something like this, I might press the tip of it against your prostate and turn it on. And then hold it there, while I spank you.’

‘James... I don’t think I’d like...’ 

He sounds decidedly sceptical. 

‘Don’t worry, Robbie. A play spanking isn’t anything like what you remember from when you were a boy. Trust me. You’re going to love it.’

‘I....’

‘I have no intention of really hurting you. Just a little sting. The contrast will make the pleasure feel more intense. Like when they put chilli peppers in chocolate...’

‘I prefer _chocolate_ in my chocolate, thanks.’

James chuckles against Robbie’s shoulder.

‘You should _try_ it, before you say you don’t like it! And you _are_ going to like it. Because I _am_ going to convince you to try it...’

He leaves it there, letting Robbie think about it, get used to the idea. He wants to give him this pleasure, and he’ll suggest it again sometime when they’re both more comfortable with this new part of their relationship, but of course he won’t force the issue, if Robbie really hates the idea. 

‘Or, maybe I’ll plug you with a piece of ginger root, while I suck you. The ginger will burn a bit, like a spicy curry burns your mouth, but at the same time my tongue will be playing with the tip of your cock...’

‘So you remember it exists then, do you? Only I was starting to wonder here...’

James laughs, delighted. Deciding he’s tormented Robbie for long enough, he shifts his position and, without warning, swallows him down.

X X X

Nothing changes at work. Robbie is still James’s boss. He still gives the orders during the day, and sometimes through much of the night, when they’re called out to a crime scene or are pursuing something urgent. And he still leaves his bagman with the most unpleasant of their tasks. And, when necessary, he still fixes him with a stern look and, from time to time, a sharp word.

And, for the most part, nothing changes at home. They’re still very much equals once they leave the job behind them. They work together comfortably in the kitchen, and if James sometimes tells Robbie what to do, it’s only because he’s trying to stop his partner from burning their tea to a crisp. They still flip a coin to decide who gets to take the rubbish out to the bins behind the building, or whose turn it is to deal with Monty’s litter. And, in bed, they still delight in doing whatever feels right in the moment, with no expectations beyond their shared pleasure. Or, more often than not, they still collapse together, exhausted from work, until the alarm rings far too soon afterwards.

James knows Robbie enjoyed having him take control, and he’s confident they’ll do all of that – and more – again. Probably soon. But it will never be something they do all the time; neither of them wants that. _It’s like one of those elaborate gateaux they sell on the High_ , he thinks, smiling at his own metaphor. Rich, indulgent, something to be savoured, but never an everyday staple.

The weekend that Robbie is driving up to Manchester, they pick up fish and chips on the Friday on their way home. The meal is a bit rushed; neither of them wants him to be too late getting to Lyn’s. He’s tried to convince James to go with him, but the band is playing at a wedding on Saturday, and besides, he thinks Lyn probably wants some time alone with her dad.

After a goodbye kiss that leaves them both breathless, Robbie picks up his bag and reaches for the tricycle before James stops him.

‘Wait. Before you go...’ He takes a deep breath before continuing with the order he’s been considering all week. He wants to give Robbie a tangible reminder of the unexpected turn their relationship has taken. And he wants to know that Robbie is clearly marked as _his_. ‘Drop your trousers, and bend over the back of the couch.’

For a long moment, Robbie simply stares at him.

‘Bloody hell, man... You want to... Now?! I’m going to be driving for hours, and...’

‘Now, Robbie!’

Robbie visibly swallows, but he sets his bag down and moves towards the couch, already undoing his trousers.

James’s heart swells at the trust his lover is showing him, and reaches into his pocket for the item that he’d placed there earlier. He waits until Robbie is in position over the back of the couch, then tugs his pants down to his knees and ghosts a hand over the curve of his arse. Robbie shudders, but doesn’t move.

James pulls the cap off the indelible pen and begins to write.

Robbie jerks in surprise, then protests that it tickles. After a moment, he squirms, trying to pull away. James swats him lightly on the other cheek, and he stills. James finishes quickly, then gives Robbie permission to rearrange his clothing.

‘You signed your name on my arse, then, did ye?’ he asks, sounding bemused.

‘It says “Property of James Hathaway.” In Latin.’

Robbie shakes his head, not succeeding in smothering his grin.

‘Only you, James.’

X X X

It had to happen eventually, he thinks. He’s just suggested calling it a night, and Robbie replied without thinking, ‘Yes, sir.’ And then James looked up to see Innocent hovering in the doorway, looking gobsmacked.

It’s almost funny. They don’t really do that, even when they’re alone. And, of course, the one time that Robbie calls him “sir” in the office, likely hinting that he’d like to do something creative once they get home, they get caught by their boss.

For one brief, insane moment, he wonders how she’d react if he explained. ‘Inspector Lewis sometimes calls me “sir” when I have him tied to his bed. Especially when I’m doing fiendish things to him with a feather duster. Unless, of course, I’ve gagged him with one of my socks.’ He’d likely get a lecture about appropriate workplace humour, but she’d never believe him.

‘Is there something you two need to tell me about the chain of command in my nick?’

Her tone is light, but her eyes make it clear that she expects an explanation. Preferably a reasonable one. 

‘Inspector Lewis is taking his _role-play_ a bit too seriously, ma’am,’ he offers. Robbie looks up, clearly horrified, but James continues. ‘He’s letting me take the lead on the Anderson case. As training.’ Robbie visibly relaxes. It’s almost true. Lewis had suggested that it would be a good case for him to cut his teeth on – not time-sensitive, and not an Oxford political landmine. James had politely declined, reminding Robbie once again that he isn’t interested in promotion and has no intention of staying on when his governor retires. Now, it looks like he’s going to have to take over the case after all, for the sake of appearances. 

Innocent, of course, looks delighted.

‘Excellent! It’s past time, I’d say, for you to be working towards promotion.’

James endures a conversation about OSPRE and NPPR and other career options he has no intention of pursuing. Finally, Innocent leaves and James turns towards Robbie, silently promising retribution.

‘Errrrmmmm... Sorry?’

‘Oh, you’ll definitely _be_ sorry. Every time Innocent makes me talk about that bloody exam!’

‘Uh... what are you...’

‘You’ll find out soon enough....’ he says cryptically, ushering Robbie towards the door. ‘Meet me at home. And be ready for me. I need to pick something up, first.’

Robbie nods, a hint of apprehension underneath the lust that’s clear in his eyes. He _had_ been hoping to play tonight, James thinks, relieved that he hasn’t misread his lover, and that his planned “retribution” won’t be ill-received.

He’s been planning to introduce Robbie to cock rings at some point, and the mock “punishment” of not being allowed to come, to make up for James’s discomfort, is the perfect excuse. He has no interest in genuine discipline; when he spanks Robbie, he intends for him to enjoy every second of it. But playing “you’ve been naughty” while he makes his lover desperate for release, when they both know it’s a game, is something else entirely.

It’s going to be an interesting evening, he thinks. But perhaps they shouldn’t thank Innocent for it, in the morning.


End file.
